The Siegfried Follies
by ChrisR
Summary: A next generation story. Max is now the chief and his daughter is an agent - but Siegfried is still around to cause trouble.


This story takes place after Get Smart, Again! and is partly concerned with Max's efforts to reactivate Control following the events of the film. In addition, certain details have been adopted from WebMistressGina's Team Smart universe. It would also help if you've read my earlier Get Smart stories, especially "The Bald Ones" and "Daze of Our Lives", but it's not essential. - ChrisR

"The Siegfried Follies"

Max stopped his bright red Alfa Romeo in front of the bookstore and gazed reflectively at the big display window that faced the street.

The name of the shop - Book'Em Danno! - made him smile. It was typical of the quirky sense of humor of the woman he had come here to see.

Woman? Rookie Control agent 224 had been scarcely more than a girl when he had last seen her, trailing behind 99 like a puppy. But she had shown a lot of talent - only to have her career end before it began when Control was deactivated just as she had been about to graduate. She had not been part of the limited cadre of agents transferred to PITS and Max had never known what had become of her. Fortunately, though, the government kept tabs on its former agents, information which had found its way into the U.S. Intelligence Agency's databanks and had now been inherited by Max's newly reborn Control organization.

The woman behind the counter didn't look up when Max entered the store - despite the snatch of the _Hawaii Five-O_ theme which played as the door opened and closed - but Max could see that time had not changed her much. Not physically anyway. Older, a little heavier perhaps, but the wild blonde hair remained untamed; defiant of current trends as it had no doubt been for the last decade and a half.

"I'm looking for a copy of _Out of Control_," Max said.

"We don't have it."

"But it has a chapter about you in it."

She looked up then, frowning as she studied his face. "Max?"

"Well, maybe not a whole chapter. And your identity couldn't be revealed for legal reasons. But where it says 'along with other agents', that's you."

"What are you doing here, Max?"

"I need your help."

"Oh, sure. I might have known you'd want something. Fifteen years you don't call, you don't write -"

"I get that a lot," Max admitted.

"You didn't want my help then; you can do without it now."

"It wasn't exactly that way," he replied. "Those were tough times for all of us; PITS only had a small number of places. We fought for you but in the end they didn't even take 99."

This seemed to knock some of the wind from her sails. "They didn't? I didn't know that," she said in a quieter voice.

"And when PITS went under, too, we were all out."

"Everyone?"

"But that's all in the past now. I've come to tell you that the new president has decided to reactivate Control - and I'm going to be the chief!" He paused and waited for the inevitable joyful response.

She stared at him. " . . . Have you lost height?"

This was not quite the reception Max had been expecting. "Did you hear what I said?"

"I heard you. Thank you for letting me know. I'm sure I'll sleep sounder in my bed knowing that Max and 99 are back on the job protecting America from her enemies - foreign _and_ domestic."

"No, you don't understand." He struggled to make himself clearer. "99 has chosen not to come back with us. The book brought her to the attention of some of the bigwigs on Capitol Hill; they've asked her to run for Congess and she's going to do it."

She nodded. "She'd be good at that. But I don't see -"

"I'm putting together a new team and I need someone I can trust to lead it so I thought . . ."

Her eyes went wide as the things he had been telling her at last fell into place. "Me??"

"Who better than the woman 99 trained: Agent 224?"

"224." Her eyes went distant. "I haven't been called that in fifteen years."

"That's all right. I haven't called anyone that in fifteen years."

"Aren't you afraid I'd be a bit . . . rusty?"

"It all comes back to you," Max promised. "Just like riding a bicycle." He ruefully rubbed his right shoulder. "Would you believe like riding a rusty bicycle?"

"I - I don't know what to say."

"About the rusty bicycle or about coming back to Control? 'Cause the bicycle thing was just a figure of speech."

"About coming back to Control."

"Just say yes."

"I don't think Nancy Reagan would approve of that," she murmured absently.

"Don't worry about having to give up the bookstore. It'll make an ideal cover."

"Cover," she repeated, as though trying the word on.

Max noted that she had missed the opportunity he had given her to make a pun on 'book' and 'cover' but he wasn't sure if this was a good or a bad thing. 'I've got a lot of other people I can ask if you don't want the job," he warned.

A look of alarm narrowed her eyebrows. "Really?"

"No, not really," he admitted. "But a deadline does tend to focus the mind, don't you think?"

"Like a prisoner waiting for execution."

"I _would_ appreciate it if you'd make your mind up quickly, though. I'm double parked in a tow away zone."

"Really?"

"No, not really. But if you're going to take much longer I _will_ need a quarter for the parking meter."

"You're such a kidder."

"No, I'm telling the truth. I parked next to a meter with twenty minutes left on it and it's just about up."

Something about the rhythm of conversing with Max seemed familiar and oddly comforting and she relaxed a little. "_I'll_ tell _you_ the truth," she said. "I loved being a spy. It's all I ever wanted to be. When I was younger I used to dream of a day just like this when you or 99 or the Chief would come in and say it was all a mistake and I'd get back everything that was taken from me. But the years went by and I got older and I gave up hope. Even when I saw you today I didn't think . . . didn't let myself think . . . " She trailed off. "I've got a new life now. I don't know if I can _be_ Agent 224 again."

Max matched her tone. "You wouldn't have to be. We're all older; we've all moved forward. 224 was rookie. You'd be coming aboard as a fully fledged agent with a brand new number just like you should've been."

"What number?" She wasn't sure why but all of a sudden knowing that was the most important thing in the world.

They both knew that agents' numbers were assigned according to a strict protocol and Max recognized the pivotal moment. Fortunately this was one for which he was prepared. "How does 88 sound?"

He watched and waited as a succession of conflicting emotions played out across her face - past and present, dreams and reality - until they were finally replaced by a look of calm resolution.

"Sounds like a piano," she said quietly.

"What?"

"A piano has eighty-eight keys."

Max looked at her nonplused for a moment, then was pleased to see some of the old sparkle he remembered begin to return to her eyes. "Don't talk to me about pianos," he said. "I've had a couple of run-ins with them in my time, I can tell you."

She grinned at him. "What's the mission?"

--

"You want me to do what?!"

Max glanced anxiously around the empty room as if it was filled with staring onlookers. "Hold it down, Maxine. This is a place of learning. People are trying to study here."

His daughter arched an eyebrow at him. "You haven't been in college for some time, have you, Dad?"

"It's been a while," Max conceded. He'd flown up to Boston in the Control jet with high hopes but already it was going badly. "What do the kids do in their dorm rooms then if they're not studying?"

Maxine felt the need for a speedy change of subject. "So, you're reviving Control. That's cool, I guess, but what does it have to do with me?"

"Like I said, I want you to work with me."

"As a spy."

"I've always wanted my kids to follow in my footsteps - like a family business."

"But I always thought that Zach . . . Don't those signs always say 'and son'?"

"Your brother will have his chance but not yet; when he's ready for it."

"But he's the one who always said he was going to have a number - like all those so-called uncles we had - even before we knew what the numbers meant."

"But you're the one who figured it out. You're a natural."

"Well, having the only Polly Dolly on the block that recited the arming codes for China's nuclear warheads instead of _The Itsy Bitsy Spider_ was a big clue."

"There you go. You're a chip off the old block!"

Maxine smiled mischievously. "Meaning Mom."

Max beamed. "Exactly."

"Whereas Zach is more like . . . "

Max's grin grew even wider. "Exactly."

"But surely you're not seriously suggesting that I drop out of college."

"Come on, Maxine. You're just marking time here. We all know you've done two years worth of work in four."

"You mean four years worth of work in two, don't you?"

"What did _I_ say?"

"You said two years worth of work in four."

"And what did _you_ say?"

"I said four years worth of work in two."

"And what did _I_ say?"

"Dad."

"Well, arithmetic was never my strong suit."

"Maybe you're right. There really hasn't been anything for me here since Tom died. I know you didn't care for him but - "

"That's not so," Max objected. "I wouldn't have liked any boy you brought home."

"Oh, that makes me feel a _lot_ better."

Max shook his head. "That didn't come out right. I know Tom was the first boy you really loved and, well, he was one of the good ones. He didn't deserve what happened to him."

"No, he didn't."

"Of all the boys I didn't like, I didn't like him the least."

She looked at him, seeing through the confused expression he often had while his thoughts were racing to catch up with his words. "You really meant that, didn't you?"

"I'm pretty sure I did."

She deliberated for only a moment then nodded her head. "I'm in."

"That's wonderful, Maxine. And I've got just the partner for you."

"No matchmaking now, Dad."

"No, nothing like that. "You remember your 'Aunt' 224. I've talked her into coming back with us. She'll be glad to show you the ropes."

"I do remember her," Maxine said. "She's the one who was always joking around." She scowled. "Not like that other one you brought to meet us once. What was her number?"

Max held up his hands. "Oh, we never talk about the other one."

"Like it never happened."

Max nodded seriously. "Exactly."

--

99 was sitting up in bed, a pair of spectacles perched on her nose, surrounded by a sea of official-looking papers.

"I didn't know that running for Congress would be so involved," she remarked, elongating the last word slightly. "There's so much to learn."

Beside her, Max set his well-thumbed copy of _Snoopy and the Red Baron_ down on his nightstand. "It'll be worth it, 99. You'll see. You're going to make a great congressman."

"Congress_woman_," she replied distractedly. "I'm a woman."

Max smiled slyly. "There's no need to remind me of that."

99 blushed; after all these years he still had that effect on her.

"Anyway, 88 thinks so, too. That you'll make a great congress, er, person, I mean."

"88? Then she accepted your offer."

Max nodded. "Its all beginning to come together."

"I'm glad. I know how long you've wanted this." 99 scooped up her papers and stacked them neatly on her own nightstand. "What about Maxine?"

Max switched off his reading light. "She wasn't sure at first. But I think she kind of likes the idea of working with her old man."

With 99's face in shadow, Max couldn't see the hint of regret in her eyes. "Oh, Max, I can't help thinking . . . our daughter, another generation . . . this is never going to end, is it? Good and evil are going to be fighting each other for ever."

"I'm afraid so, 99. Isn't it great?"

99 took off her glasses and added them to the pile of papers, then turned back to look at him. "Have you told her the truth about Tom yet?"

"Not yet. I didn't want it to influence her decision. Everything will change for her once she knows."

"I'm sure you'll do the right thing." 99 switched off her reading light and snuggled into her pillow. "Goodnight, love."

In the darkness, Max still sat upright. What was the right thing? Things were so much simpler in Snoopy's world.

--

Max looked up from his desk as the sliding door hummed open and Larabee entered the office.

"Yes, Larabee?"

"A message from the Attorney-General, Max."

"A message? What is it?"

"A piece of paper with writing on it," Larabee replied in some bewilderment.

"How about reading it?"

"Good idea, Max." Larabee directed his attention to the paper and his eyes began moving from side to side.

"Aloud?"

"Oh. 'This is to inform you that the prisoner Conrad Siegfried has been released pursuant to a plea bargain.'"

"What kind of plea bargain? That weather control machine was a crime against nature!"

Larabee read, "'Since crimes against nature are not against U.S. law, in the interests of expeditiousness the defendant has instead been convicted and fined fifty dollars on the lesser charge of interfering with the operation of a goverment agency. To wit, the National Weather Service.'"

Max squinted at him. "To what?"

"To wit."

"Too-woo!" they crooned.

Max shook his head. "Some justice system we have, eh, Larabee? Multiple murderers go free while litterbugs get life imprisonment."

"Littering _is_ a big problem in town," Larabee agreed.

"I didn't mean for you to take that literally, Larabee. Honestly, you remind me of Hymie sometimes."

"You could never confuse me with Hymie, Max."

"Why not? Is it his computer brain? His superhuman strength?"

"No, he's taller."

"That's it. Except for that you two are practically twins."

The sarcasm went right over Larabee's head. "Do you need anything else, Max?"

"No. Just tell me when Maxine and 88 get here."

At that moment, the door slid open again and the two aforementioned individuals walked in.

"Maxine and 88 are here," Larabee reported.

"I can see that, Larabee."

"Then why did you want me to tell you?"

88 snapped off a salute. "Agents 88 and 24 reporting as ordered, sir!" she proclaimed with a grin.

"I think that's already been well established," Maxine said dryly.

Max experienced an unaccustomed twinge of doubt. At first glance they seemed rather an mismatched pair: 88 with her unruly mane and faded blue jeans and Maxine (a.k.a. Agent 24) more tastefully coutured, her straight dark hair making her look - especially in these surroundings - every inch her mother's daughter.

Then there was Larabee. "I still don't think it's fair that Maxine gets to walk in off the street and be an agent overnight," he complained.

"She's just been through six weeks of intensive training," Max defended. "That's not exactly overnight."

88 eyed her with newfound interest. "You were a street walker?" Maxine rolled her eyes.

"Some of us have been here every day for the past twenty years without getting a promotion." Larabee gazed accusingly at Max. "Does the word 'nepotism' mean anything to you?"

"No," Max replied. "Does the word 'unemployment' mean anything to you?"

Apparently it did because Larabee immediately turned to the newcomers and said, "Welcome to Control, ladies."

At the word 'ladies' 88 raised her eyebrows. "Who came in?" She whirled around to look at the now-closed door then turned back to her three stone-faced companions. "Nothing," she muttered. "The Stooges, people. Classic comedy."

"I've always found the Marx Brothers to be more . . . sophisticated," Maxine informed her.

88 regarded her dubiously. So far her freshly minted partner had not shown much appreciation for the finer things. "Why a duck?" she demanded.

"Deep water," Maxine replied without missing a beat.

88 blinked once then laughed in delight. "Excellent!" she exclaimed.

Maxine turned to her and smiled.

Max smiled, too; maybe this was going to work after all. "You can't top Laurel and Hardy as far as I'm concerned," he said. "Right, Larabee?" He glanced at his longtime associate and the two of them gave each other a perfunctory nod in perfect L&H style.

"Okay, Boss," said 88, "now that we've all bonded, maybe you can answer the question I asked back when you came to my shop."

"What question was that?"

"What's the mission?"

Max motioned for her and Maxine to sit down on the two chairs in front of the desk. "You were only with Control for a short time so you might not have known that we once had a secret research lab hidden in the dressing rooms backstage at the Follies theatre."

"I remember that place," said Larabee.

"I'm sure you do," Max replied. "I remember that big crush you had on Kitty Karvelas."

"It wasn't a crush; I wanted her to have my name."

"But you already had a wife."

"She wasn't using it; she kept her own name."

"Larabee, you did know that Karvelas was a guy, didn't you?"

88 leaned forward. "Ooh, do tell."

"Kitty was really Harry - Agent 38, " Max explained. "he was disguised as a chorus girl but he was really one of the guards assigned to protect the lab."

"Don't throw that up at me now, Max. What about you and Charlie Watkins?"

"That was entirely different," Max asserted. "Charlie and I were just good friends. Although," his eyes grew distant as he recalled, "he did look rather fetching in that gold lamé gown he wore the night that we - " He broke off as he realized that everyone was staring at him.

"As fascinating - and disturbing - as this stroll down memory lane is," Maxine began tentatively, "maybe it would be best if we concentrated on the present."

"Spoilsport," 88 scolded.

"Busybody," Maxine retorted.

"Good comeback. Fast, too."

"I try."

"Er, getting back to the Follies theatre," Max said, "according to the files, when Control was deactivated in 1974 it was transferred to PITS but since they had their own facilities they never made use of it and by the time PITS was closed down it was all but forgotten. When the Federal Government sold off some excess real estate a few years later the theatre went with it. Since then it's had a number of owners, most recently being taken over by a company which is a known Kaos front. And that - " He nodded at Maxine. "- brings us up to the present."

"Does Kaos know that Control once had a lab in that building," asked 88, "or is that just one of those zany sitcom coincidences?"

"That's a good question, 88."

88 directed her gaze toward the ceiling. "You hear that, Maxine? I asked a good question."

"Congratulations. I'll get you a gold star later."

88 smiled to herself. "I'd rather have the money."

Larabee watched them back and forth with the mesmerized look of a spectator at a tennis match. He shook his head to try to clear it. It didn't help.

"The answer to that question . . . " Max said.

"Yes?"

" . . . is we don't know - but it was still a good question."

"Do I still get my gold star?"

This was accompanied by such a mournful expression that Maxine couldn't restrain herself from laughing. "Or the cash equivalent thereof," she added solemnly.

Max sat back in his chair, himself starting to feel slightly shell shocked from their rapidfire exchanges. "Well, I think that's it," he said. "Did you get everything?"

"Not all of it," 88 replied.

Max frowned. "What part didn't you get?"

88 fixed him with her hazel gaze and enunciated slowly as though talking to someone hard of hearing. "What's the mission?"

"Oh. Did I leave that out?"

"A little bit, yeah."

"Well, it's really quite simple. Since there's no record of either Control or PITS clearing out the lab before the property was sold off, your mission is simply to retrieve any and all scientific papers that might still be hidden back there. If the results of that research should fall into the wrong hands . . . well, you know the rest."

88 nodded. "The end of civilization as we know it, blah, blah, blah. Got it."

Max smiled approvingly. "You do understand." Becoming more serious, he continued. "Now, as for a plan of action, I haven't got it all worked out yet but what it boils down to is this: Get in, get the papers - and get out."

"But how are we supposed to do that if the place has been taken over by Kaos?" Maxine objected.

"That's the part of the plan I haven't worked out yet."

"Never mind," said 88. "I have my own plan."

"What's that?"

"We'll wing it." She stood up. "Come on, Maxine."

Maxine stood up to follow her but Max called them back. "There's one more thing." 88 and Maxine walked back to the desk. "I'd like to start the first mission of the new Control by making a toast."

"I hope it's whole wheat, Max," said Larabee. "At my age I need the fiber."

"Not that kind of toast, Larabee," Max groaned. "I just wanted to say that as pleased as I am to be able to reactivate Control and take the title of Chief, there's another man who I'll always think of when I hear that word - and I think all of you feel the same way."

There were murmurs of agreement as he stood up and produced a bottle and four glasses from a bar fridge nestled into a row of cupboards behind the desk. He poured a quantity of a creamy liquid into each of the glasses and they each took one.

"That's the whitest white wine I've ever seen," 88 quipped.

Larabee peered into his glass. "There's something wrong with this champagne, Max. I think it's gone flat."

"It's buttermilk," Max told him.

"Why are we toasting with buttermilk?" Maxine asked.

"I thought it would be appropriate," Max answered. "He didn't talk about it much but I think most of us knew that the Chief had an ulcer. I don't know how he got it because I was always right by his side every moment helping him in any way I could - " 88 and Maxine exchanged glances at this but kept silent. " - but I know he sometimes used to take a little buttermilk."

"I think there's something wrong with this buttermilk, Max," said Larabee. "It seems to be a little thick."

88 again turned to Maxine and opened her mouth to say something but then shook her head.

"Too easy," Maxine agreed.

Max wondered how the Chief, how Thaddeus had managed to keep everything running so smoothly for so long. Now, under his watch, it seemed that everything was rapidly devolving into a circus. Then again, Max liked circuses - especially jugglers. "Things will never be the same without him," he found himself saying, "but whatever good we can do will be because of the start he gave us."

"Maybe he's up there somewhere watching over us."

"That's a nice thought, Maxine." Max raised his glass. "To the Chief."

His new team did likewise. "To the Chief!" they chorused.

They clinked glasses, their enthusiasm unfortunately resulting in an impact harder than what would have been desirable, causing milk to rain down onto the desk.

Max surveyed the mess with an outward calm. Some things, it seemed, never changed. "Well," he said, "if the Chief _is_ watching over us, I hope he didn't see _that_."

Then again, maybe he would have felt right at home.

--

The giant neon sign on the theater flashed the words "Golden Rooster Summer Follies" along with its luminescent dancing girls just as it had more than two decades earlier.

Inside, Siegfried prowled around the backstage area like the newly uncaged animal he was, stagehands and costumed performers making way for him as he passed. "It's a good thing I haff arrived when I did," he bellowed. "Ze place is a shambles." No one dared contradict him although it crossed more than one mind that the place had been operating perfectly well without him. He looked across at his right hand man, Shtarker, in the hope of receiving some affirmation only to see an even dopier grin on his face than usual.

"Vot are you so happy about?" Siegfried demanded gruffly.

"Oh, Siegfried. Ze show business is zo much fun! All ze dancing und ze singing!" He began to jig in place. "Tra-la la-la, la-la la-la," he trilled.

Siegfried regarded him with alarm. "Shtarker . . . ," he said, placing a restraining hand on the big lug's arm.

Shtarker stopped jigging. "Ya?"

"Zis is Kaos," Siegfried advised him with brotherly concern. He shook his head. "Ve don't tra-la here."

Outside, 88 pulled her sky blue classic Volkswagen Beetle up to the kerb and stopped the engine.

Maxine worked her jaw. "Amazing," she said. "All my teeth are still in place. Just how old is this jalopy anyway?"

"It's the same age as you."

"All right, I'll give you that one. I just never saw the appeal of these crates, that's all."

"Oh, I'm a big fan."

"Of what? _The Love Bug_?"

"No, the Beatles." 88 said it as if the connection was self-evident but Maxine just shrugged and shook her head. "John and Paul? Yeah, yeah, yeah? Oh, no, you're serious. You and I will have to have a long talk."

"Let's talk about how we're going to get into the theater," Maxine suggested.

"How about the front door?"

"I think it's going to be a bit more complicated than that."

"You do? Let's go see!" With that 88 was out of the car and dashing across the sidewalk. She disappeared into the building leaving Maxine scrambling to get out and lock the car before following. She was panting when she got inside and found 88 waiting for her in the lobby. "What kept you?"

Maxine pointed back in the direction of the car. "Well, I, uh - "

"Look." 88 was pointing at an easel bearing a sign which read, "Auditions Today. All Welcome." She sauntered up to a table behind which sat a plump, rosy-cheeked woman of middle years with a _Hi! I'm Lili._ name tag pinned to her dress. Maxine followed her.

"This is Ivory Towers," 88 announced. "She's - "

"I'm her manager," Maxine interrupted.

The woman crossed out what she had written and looked up irritated. "Then what's _her_ name?"

"Sally Lunn," Maxine told her. "She's a comedian."

"Okay, go through that door. We're having a slow day so you won't have long to wait."

They made their way to where the woman indicated, this time with Maxine in the lead. She turned to 88 who had been struck uncharacteristically speechless. "You were right. That _was_ easy."

--

88 regained her voice as they entered the auditorium. "Sally Lunn?" she whispered indignantly. "What kind of a name is that?"

"It's better than the one you stuck me with," Maxine whispered back.

"Ivory Towers is a pefectly good stage name. I was going to say you were a - "

"A singer."

"How did you know?"

"It's always a singer."

"We don't get points for originality."

"There's just one slight problem: I can't sing."

"You can't sing? Who can't sing?"

"I can't sing. If you want to attract the neighborhood cats I'm your girl but I can't sing."

"And what makes you think I can pass for a comedian?"

For answer, Maxine tilted her head and looked at her, her arms folded.

"All right, I'll give you that one. But that means that while I'm keeping everyone distracted with my scintillating patter, you'll have to do the searching."

"Where should I search?"

"Your father said the entrance to the lab used to be through a wardrobe trunk on the north wall. Start there."

They found seats in the back row and waited while a freckle-faced young man attempted to keep his voice from breaking as he completed a spirited rendition of 'Sometimes When We Touch'.

"Don't call us, ve'll call you," called out a man's heavily accented voice from somewhere in the middle of the almost empty seating area.

"That's Siegfried," 88 murmured in surprise. "What's he doing here?"

"Siegfried?" Maxine repeated. "As in _the_ Siegfried? That Siegfried?"

"That's the one."

"Kaos must have something big going on here for him to be involved."

88 nodded thoughtfully. "Either that or he's seen _A Chorus Line_ one too many times."

"Next!" Siegfried shouted.

Since there didn't seem to be anyone else, 88 and Maxine stood up and climbed the steps to the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Maxine proclaimed to the empty house, "Miss Sally Lunn, the Funniest Woman in the World."

88 made a face only Maxine could see. "Thanks a lot," she muttered. "No pressure there."

Maxine smiled sweetly at her and, making a sweeping gesture, exited backward, stage left, going through the wings into the backstage area.

Left alone, 88 looked out, trying to see into the dark. "Good evening ladies and germs. I just flew in from New York and boy are my arms tired. I met a drunk who said he hadn't had a bite in three days so I bit him." She tapped the microphone, the sound reverberating in the emptiness. "Is this thing on? These are the jokes, folks."

Seated next to Siegfried, Shtarker turned to him. "Zis is funny?"

Siegfried grunted. "It used to be."

--

Having been summarily booted off stage, 88 followed Maxine's path through the wings. Largely ignored, she threaded her way between a troop of baton twirlers on her left and Percy the Preeminent Prestidigitator on her right, and found Maxine standing in front of an archway leading to a vestibule with several doors leading off it.

"Did you find it?"

"Not exactly."

"What do you mean 'not exactly'?"

"It's gone."

"It's gone? Not the thrill, I hope. You mean the trunk. There should still be something. A secret panel in the wall?"

"The wall is gone."

"The wall is gone? You mean here - this archway? Then where's the lab?"

"The lab is gone."

"The lab is gone? Then the dressing rooms . . . "

" . . . are just dressing rooms."

"Well, the papers might still be here somewhere. I'll search the men's dressing rooms and you search the women's dressing rooms."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"You're right. We wouldn't be able to tell which is which without looking inside first."

"No, I mean this is basically a public area now. No one's going to leave secret papers in a public place where anyone can find them. If they're still here at all, they're more likely to be in a more private part of the building like an office. I'm not going to waste my time seaching someplace they're not going to be."

"Hey, who's the senior agent around here?"

Maxine shrugged. "Fine. Have it your way. When we don't find anything the office will still be there. Only _I'm_ searching the men's dressing rooms."

88 regarded her partner with a mix of admiration and amusement. "You know, you're pretty funny, kid."

"You know who my father is, right?"

"Yes, I do. And he put _me_ in charge. So here's what we're going to do: We're going to search the office." 88's grin resurfaced. "No one's going to leave secret papers in a public place where anyone can find them."

Maxine grinned back. "Good thinking, 88."

"There's a lot of your mother in you as well."

"I've been told."

"Come on. The office is this way."

'How can you be so sure?"

"There was chart of the layout of the place in the lobby. For emergency services."

"But you couldn't have had more than a second or two to glance at it."

"I have a pornographic memory," 88 deadpanned, drawing afresh from a seemingly inexhaustible stock of old chestnuts.

"You mean a _photo_graphic memory," Maxine corrected.

"If you say so," 88 replied over her shoulder as she took off again, Maxine again trailing in her wake.

--

The office was in an isolated section of the building just where 88 had said. It even had a sign on the door labeled 'Office'.

"Nice work getting us past those guards just by acting as though you belonged here," Maxine complimented.

"What guards?"

"That line of burly showgirls who all looked like they needed a shave."

"They were guards?"

Maxine looked uncertain. "I thought they were guards."

"I thought they were the East German swimming team."

It took a beat but then Maxine laughed, realizing she'd been set up. "That was a good one," she admitted. "You got me with that."

"Why, thank you, ma'am," 88 responded, affecting a country and western twang. "All part of the service."

As 88 looked on, Maxine turned her attention to the door. "Now how do we get in?" she wondered aloud. She glanced at 88. "Do you have a hairpin?"

"Do I look like I have a hairpin?"

"So how do _you_ propose we open the door, senior agent?"

"Try turning the knob."

Maxine did. "It's open," she said in surprise.

"This is what I've been trying to tell you: The obvious thing usually works."

They entered the office.

"Then I suppose the obvious place to find papers would be in a filing cabinet."

"Now you're catching on."

As it happened, there were two filing cabinets. They each took one and began going through the drawers.

"It would be even more obvious if there was one marked 'Control's Secret Projects'," Maxine remarked - but there was no such luck.

"Nothing works _every_ time," 88 conceded. She fell silent as she read the labels on the file drawers. "On the other hand, there _is_ a little thing called serendipity. 'Students Accepted', 'Rejected', 'Under Observation'. Do you know what this place is? It's a Kaos recruitment center!"

"Then the people who audition here are really applying to be agents?"

"Not necessarily. After all, we got in. Maybe they just screen for likely traitors - or maybe they brainwash people. Maxine, quick! I'll watch the door. You use your ring camera to copy as many of the files as you can."

88 moved to the doorway and looked up and down the hall.

Meanwhile, Maxine readied the miniature camera hidden in the ring on her right middle finger. She began with the 'Accepted' files and then, figuring that the 'Rejected' were least important, quickly moved on to those 'Under Observation'. Pushing the drawer closed on them, she looked up at 88. "Anything yet.?"

When 88 signaled that the coast was still clear, Maxine opened the drawer marked 'Rejected' and removed the first file. She opened it, completely unprepared for the sight of the face that was suddenly smiling out at her. "Tom . . . , she breathed.

The shock hit her like a physical blow. And she lived again the night she had waited for him. Hearing the scream of tyres as the car sped away. Rushing outside to find him lying still on the ground.

The driver had never been found. The police called it a hit-and-run, an accident. But now, as she looked once more on the face of the man she had loved, she finally saw the horrendous truth. For stamped across his chiseled features was the single word, 'Eliminated'.

Through tear-blurred vision she forced herself on, punching her clenched fist toward each of the remaining files, activating the camera in her ring, until she was finished. Only then did she take the time to wipe the moisture from her face. She was just replacing the last folder in the drawer when 88 whispered, "I hear footsteps."

They quickly left the office and rounded the corner - where they quite literally bumped into Siegfried and Shtarker.

"Vot are you doink here?" Siegfried demanded. "Zis is a restricted area."

"We're looking for the ladies' room," 88 replied as though supplying the answer to a riddle, at the same time mentally congratulating herself for being able to say the word 'ladies' without cracking up.

"Zere's one near ze dressing rooms," Shtarker told her, looking vaguely embarrassed at knowing that.

"Vich is vere you should be anyway," Siegfried added darkly.

"Thanks!" 88 replied brightly. "Well, we'd love to stay and chat but we're in kind of a hurry if you get my meaning."

Siegfried drew himself up. "Ve don't chat here!"

"My point exactly." She waggled her fingers at him. "Bye-ee!" Then she linked arms with Maxine and, brushing past the bemused Kaos agents, promenaded down the corridor without so much as a backward glance.

--

"I'm sorry we failed our first assignment, Boss," said 88 when she and Maxine were safely back in Max's office, "but the theatre seems to have been completely remodeled on the inside. I think those papers must be long gone by now."

"Think nothing of it, 88. Discovering the location of the Kaos recruitment center is much more important. And having a complete photofile of Kaos's new trainees is going to be invaluable."

"But what about the end of civilization as we know it? We _were_ trying to prevent that, weren't we?"

"Er." Max frowned. "Yes," he recalled. "Yes, we were. But it turns out that all the projects we were working on back then are obselete now. All the technologies have been 'redeveloped' by other people and used in everyday household items like microwave ovens and those little compact disks."

"How did you find that out?"

"While you were away I contacted our old lab man Professor Walker. He's retired now but he kept a duplicate set of all the papers."

"Why didn't you contact him before?"

"I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"I didn't think of it before."

88's mouth quirked. "Well, they do say timing is everything."

"Speaking of time." Max checked his watch. "It's four thirty now. Why don't you two take the rest of the day off?"

"A whole half hour?"

"Why not? You've earned it."

"Well, in that case, I think I'll swing by the bookstore." 88 winked at Max. "See if that shipment of _Out of Control_ has come in yet." She glanced at Maxine, aware that the girl had hardly spoken since their adventure. "You wanna come along?"

"Another time, okay? I'd like to have a word with my father."

"Sure," 88 replied. Her eyes lingered on them for just a moment. "We can play again tomorrow."

Maxine waited for the door to slide closed then turned and faced her father. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Max didn't need to ask what she was talking about; this was the moment he'd been dreading. "I wanted to tell you," he said. "The time just never seemed right. I never expected you to find out this way."

"That's what you meant when you said Tom was one of the good ones, wasn't it? He must have auditioned there and Kaos tried to recruit him but they couldn't turn him."

"Yes."

"So they killed him."

"Yes."

"He was a great musician, Dad. He was going to be the next Barry Manilow."

"Maxine, if you want to quit, I'll understand."

"Quit? I don't want to quit. Kaos is evil. They need to be stopped." Brown eyes met brown eyes. "In fact, I've been thinking: Now that we know where their recruitment center is, we have a chance of getting someone inside their organization; destroying them from within."

Max nodded. "That's a terrific idea."

"And I want to be the one to do it."

Max shook his head. "That's a terrible idea."

"You got me into this; I'm not going to back off now."

"Being a double agent is dirty, dangerous, demanding duty, Daxine. I mean Maxine. Not to mention lonely."

"Lonely?"

"I told you not to mention lonely. Only you and I could know your true mission. You couldn't tell your friends or family. Even everyone here at Control would think you'd really defected. You just don't have the experience for something like that."

"But I've already seen their operation. That should put me one up on anyone else."

"88's seen the operation, too," Max pointed out.

"But she's your lead agent; you need her here."

Max shook his head. "No. I can't let you do it. It's out of the question. Forget about it. Absolutely not."

"But, Dad, I want to."

"Okay." Max had answered automatically but then he caught himself. "No, no, that's not going to work this time. This is not like asking to stay out for an extra hour on a school night."

"I'm just as stubborn as you are, Dad. That's how I got those extra hours in the first place."

Again, two pairs of brown eyes met.

Max took a breath. "All right, I'll tell you what. I'm not promising anything but this is going to take a while to set up. In the meantime you'll go on more missions, you'll get experience and then we'll see."

Maxine gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Dad. I'll make you proud."

"Maxine . . . I know we haven't been as close as we might have been since, er, since you, er - "

"Hit puberty?"

"Yes, that. But I've _always_ been proud of you."

Maxine lowered her eyes. "It means a lot to hear you say it."

"There's just one thing that worries me," Max said, suddenly pensive.

"What?"

"What am I going to tell your mother?"

--

Meanwhile, back at the Golden Rooster Summer Follies, as the neon dancers kicked on:

"Siegfried?"

"Ya?"

"I've been sinking about zat pretty dark-haired girl ve saw at ze auditions."

"She's too young for you, Shtarker."

"Nein, nein. I vas sinking zat she looked familiar somehow."

"You saw zat, too?"

"Do you know who she iss?"

"Nein . . . but I vill."

The End?


End file.
